


Hard To Dance With A Devil On Your Back

by atozandallinbetween



Series: Let The World Dream Otherwise [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atozandallinbetween/pseuds/atozandallinbetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius Malfoy sacrifices something precious for his own needs: his son’s soul. But the Devil has her own ideas on what to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard To Dance With A Devil On Your Back

**Author's Note:**

> Story Title is from the Christian Hymn Lord of the Dance  
> Song Lyrics are from Trouble by Ray LaMontagne  
> Soundtrack: The Devil's Music [Online](http://grooveshark.com/playlist/Soundtrack/88962635) || [Download](http://www.4shared.com/folder/BgrbUthV/Soundtrack.html)

I. Prologue

(In Which A Deal is Made and a Messenger Appears)

 

 

_“By the pricking of my thumbs,_

_Something wicked this way comes._

_Open, locks,_

_Whoever knocks!”_

-Macbeth (Act IV, Scene I)

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Trouble been doggin’ my soul since the day I was born_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

It is two years, three months and four days after Draco is born when his father sells his soul.

He draws a trap, performs a ritual and Draco’s future appears riding a skinny, little blonde meatsuit. She smiles and her - it’s- eyes turn red.

Terms and conditions are named, and she accepts his fairly unique proposal. Trapped as she is, she has no choice but to accept. Truth be told, deals as black as this one are hard for demons to turn down. Now is no exception. Demons love ones such as he; those who live lie, cheat, and kill to get whatever they want. They fit right into a sizeable corner of Hell.

Sensing her glee at his proposal, Lucius swallows the first flicker of a guilt that will never leave. Ignoring his slight wariness he kisses a demon, and makes the deal.

For years to come, his mouth tastes like ashes.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

It isn’t his own soul that he sells. It’s an unorthodox trade, one he only discovered after years of searching, reading ancient grimoires, stories and books of the darkest magic. His obsession with gaining power finally leads him to the most abandoned corners of his family’s ancient Dark magic library, where he finds what he seeks.

It is an ancient diary, bound with human skin (probably a Muggle’s knowing the Malfoys.) The ancient scrawl tells of a previous generation’s scandals, and politics. It is in this unsigned journal where he finds the notes of a distant Malfoy ancestor’s quest for power. It tells of how he summoned a demon, trapped it, and, using the blackest of magic, traded his young firstborn girl’s soul for enormous wealth. This ancestor eventually was killed by having his intestines ripped out after he killed the head of a rival family.

(Not much of a loss, really.)

The Malfoy family history reads like a bloody, fucked-up soap opera.

With most of their family’s enormous wealth been based on a literal deal with the devil, this is not really surprising. But once again, a head of the Malfoy family decides on the same course of action.

It is almost 200 years later when Lucius trades his baby son’s soul for near immortality.

The Dark Lord’s death and his subsequent arrest had left him incessantly paranoid. Constantly looking over his shoulder in fear of spells or curses in retaliation for what he had done. The enemies of former Death Eaters are many, and the future of the Malfoy family must be preserved at all costs.

He tells himself this is necessary, that when he is old enough Draco will understand this is for the good of the family. (Unsurprisingly, this will not be true.)

Still he does not truly get what he wants. Despite the black deal, the demon does not give him true immortality. That is something no one can give. Instead it just makes him much harder to kill, which he grudgingly accepts. As a result his later death will be slow, painful and gruesome.

His own actions damn him to the darkest depths of Hell, it’s just gonna take a little longer. He will only realize this much later, as he is convinced his actions are justified. Unfortunately, the Demons will not agree.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

The standard length of time one of the damned gets after making a deal is ten years. Ten years to enjoy the fruit of whatever they sold their soul for. For most, it seems long at the beginning and short at the end. Usually, it’s not a young child’s soul getting traded. Most of those who dare to trade with demons, to bargain with Hell, are desperate, older and jaded. They believe they have nothing left to lose, have sunk to the lowest level of human depravity, and are surprised when they find out how much longer they have to fall.

This deal stand in sharp contrast. The damned is instead a baby, a nothing in comparison to the years, even centuries all demons have on him. It is almost enough for the demon to feel a lone stab of pity. Almost, weak emotions have long since been beaten and cut out of it. It thinks it was a man, long ago, when it was human. Never had any children of it’s own.

The demon gives the kid an extra three years. After all, it’s not his fault his father is an asshole.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

Thirteen years. That’s how long Draco gets of a ‘normal’ life, with an ominous ending hanging over his head. Then a demon is coming to swoop up his soul. He has three years before he learns of this. Three years that he regards as the best of his life. (It is not particularly promising for the rest of it.) These three years he spends in an haze of toys and other pureblood children, showered with gifts yet mostly ignored by his parents. The life of a typical rich child; physically spoiled, emotionally neglected. It could have worse, at least.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Oh, worry_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

But that was before he learned of his somber fate. Then, he did not know of what was to come.

He is six when his Father takes him for a trip to Knockturn Alley, mostly likely for something illegal. Before they enter Moribund’s a hag approaches them. Dirty, clothed in ragged robes, she offers to read his fortune, and then pauses and looks at him crooked-eyed.

Her tone turns somber, and frightened. “You’re marked, boy. A deadly sickle hangs over your head. She’ll come to take your soul.” As in life, the gift of True Sight comes to those who do not need it, when others do. For prophecies, this one is uniquely clear in it’s brutal message.

His father can not pull him away fast enough, but Draco is intrigued by the flicker in his Father’s eyes.

They do not buy the Death-Cap Draught Lucius wanted to purchase.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

His nightmares are full of slender, brittle limbs, and that damning prophecy intoned over and over, echoing in his mind. He doesn’t sleep well that night, and for many nights to come.

It nudges at his mind, despite his insistence to himself it meant nothing.  

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

He doesn’t understand, not really, not yet, but he doggedly pursues it anyway. In his studies, with his tutor he asks about seeing the future, as much as he can. He knows there is something coming, something bad. In the same way an old man's bones ache when there's a storm coming, he feels a heavy cloud over his life.

On the day of his seventh birthday, his tutor accedes to his requests and he is allowed to brew a Seeing potion, that can reveal hidden truths’ in one’s past. He takes it before bed, gulping down a dark opalescent mixture that smelled of heavy herbs, strawberries and salt. It tastes terrible.

The next morning, on June sixth, he emerges in the very early hours, before even the house elves are up. He then proceeds to pull a magnificent tantrum, the likes of one the Malfoy house had only seen many years prior when Lucius was going through puberty.Five paintings, a table, a set of damask curtains, a grand piano, five chairs and a house elf’s nerves are the casualties.

Father calls him into his study, and Draco peers over his immense desk at cold, grey eyes. The portraits in the wall of his numerous ancestors seem to stare down with the same exact disapproval.

“Why, exactly, did you through a childish tantrum that was unbefitting of a Malfoy?” Malfoys’ are taught to never overreact, or to act according to their emotions.

In her gilded frame, the brushstrokes of his long deceased Great-Great-Great-Aunt’s eyes seem to be especially hostile. Draco gulps, and steels up his courage. “Why exactly did you bargain with my soul?”

Father’s expression releases in slight surprise, and then tightens. “It was necessary.”

And Draco knows; his Father is not sorry. In that moment his Father becomes Lucius in his mind. He refuses to acknowledge this man as his father.

Draco is then dismissed from the room.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Oh, trouble_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

Really though, Lucius does not treat him badly. He ignores Draco mostly.Occasionally, Draco fancies there’s an flicker of regret in his cold eyes. (This convinces no one, not even himself, that Lucius has feelings.)

After he discovers the deal, he understands why his mother dotes on him. Her devotion is a product of the residual guilt that she did not stop the ritual. Reminded of his precious time, he revels in her attention, then pushes her away when he is reminded of the reason for it. He can not bring himself to forgive her for her inaction. He can not even begin to contemplate the same with his father.

He spends a brief period of denial stomping around the house, and throwing magnificent tantrums. Soon the inevitability of his plight is understood, and he nurtures a slow-burning anger that is prone to deadly flare-ups.The rest of his childhood, called that by age constraints only, is spent in frequent study. He learns defensive spells, fighting, anything that would give him an edge. Everyday, he is reminded his time is running out.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

The nightmares get particularly bad when he goes to Hogwarts. Black eyes peering out of human faces, blood running down skin, all the horrors that his mind can imagine he sees. He knows they are nothing compared to what will come.

He knows this means he will die at Hogwarts.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Sometimes I swear it feels like this worry is my only friend_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

Slytherin seems like a haven and viper’s den at the same time. Attachments are hard to form here, everyone keeping each other beyond arm’s length. Emotion is an annoyance, even a hazard with Dark families.

He will need every bit of that distance in the pit of Hell. He did his research. Oh, yes he has heard of they do to young, privileged boys like him. They carve him up, etch scars into his soul and all the while they send him hallucinations of those he loves experiencing the same. So he distances himself, and does not make friends and does not love. He doesn't actually want to be friends with anyone in Slytherin, so it’s not exactly a hardship.

She likes to visit his dreams, and stand over his shoulder as he watches himself in the mirror, eyes slowly turning black. (Although then he did not know just who or what she was.)

Yes, it’s better to not make friends at all.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

He did offer for Potter to be his friend. It was back in his bargaining stage, when he believed if he did all he could, was the best at everything his father would take the deal back. When he believed something could be done. When he believed his father could and would want to if he saw what a good son Draco was. He knows better now.

Potter, a young hero becomes the victim of his tumultuous emotions as he views Potter and his perfect Gryffindor friends as something he will never be or have.When he finds out the Golden Boy lives with his muggle Aunt and Uncle, he images scenes of a happy family clustered around a small messy haired boy exclaiming in wonder at his Hogwart’s letter. When he finds out the truth, that Potter’s family virtually ignores him when they’re not treating him like a house elf, his jealously only diminishes slightly and adds a heaping of guilt to make him feel even worse.

He hates himself for thinking it, but:

At least the death sentence hanging over Potter’s head does not have a millenia of suffering attached. Just a homicidal Dark Lord. (Although, really, he distances himself from everyone who doesn’t.)

He is so tempted to actually hurt Potter, to hurt anyone- he has study the spells, learned the curses. He’s too much of a coward, too afraid of his actions damning him to more violent pits of Hell. He hates himself for it.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

Most of his Hogwart’s years in the beginning are spent cycling through intense emotions; dividing his time between taking his anger out on Gryffindors, researching ways to get out of his deal, trying to be the perfect Malfoy scion, and later, on other baser pursuits such as drinking and fucking. He tries to live as much as he can, while he still can.

He makes a lot of stupid decisions, does a lot of stupid things. Nothing makes him forget.

Messing with Gryffindors, start veritable riots between rival houses in the middle of class (who knew Hufflepuff could be so vicious?), it does not matter. His mind, as always, stays fixed on his fate

As much as humanly possible, he does not sleep.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Feels like every time I get back on my feet_

_she come around and knock me down again_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

The countdown to his death is permanently etched into his mind. He knows that there's nothing anyone can do to save him, but wishes someone would just try.

His father told him his blood was better, he is more because he’s a Malfoy.  But really, that makes no difference in the grand scheme of things. He tried to convince himself of that, that somehow the rules of the universe did not apply to him. Everything dies, some just in more painful ways than others. Death is inevitable, and blood, religion or even magic, will not save you. (It heartens him slightly to know he is wiser than his Father, who has never learned such a lesson.)

He is altogether unimpressed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return. (Defeated by a baby. Bloody embarrassing.)

His summer was spent sneering at his Father’s groveling to the Dark Lord. He does not attend the Death Eater meetings, and is happy for that. On top of his imminent damnation, he does not need Voldemort’s particular brand of murderous shit that he manages to smear on everyone’s life. Lucius has begun to speak of him joining him, as The Dark Lord’s Most Faithful Ally. He would rather eat Weasley’s shorts, thank you.

After this oh so lovely summer, his fifth year starts. The students travel to Hogwarts on September first. The door to his compartment on his last train ride to Hogwarts stays firmly shut as he sits in his compartment, alone. The charms on the door keep anyone from coming in, and the hexes would hurt those that do. He spends the time idly amusing himself casting complex, obscure spells that verge on Dark magic.

This forced isolation continues when he arrives at the castle.

His first half of his last week is spent in a dreadful haze, as he ignores everything around him. The announcement of Dolores Umbridge as the new DADA teacher is meet with no response, as are his classes. The ‘honor’ of being chosen as a House Prefect is ignored, and his duties lacked.

Outwardly, he pretends everything is normal; keeping an ironclad grip on his facial expressions.

He spends nights wandering the castle. As the ninth approaches, his last Saturday, he periodically finds himself panicking with shortness of breath and runaway thoughts brought on by the wild howls he hears in the distance very so often.

Each day starts off with a drop of Calming Draught in his orange juice. He contemplates suicide, but knows that will only put him in Hell sooner. Holding onto his leftover days is his only option.

The dreaded anvil hangs over his head.  

On the sixth, midnight approaches after a long day of panic attacks, deadened by Firewhisky. (It took him a lot of effort to sneak that in the castle. It was necessary, though. Kept him from rampaging through the castle. Smushing Umbridge’s face in, more than it already is, and all that.)

He is on top of the Astronomy Tower, when it appears.

The demon is wearing a curvy redhead, who looks Irish. (Not really his type, to be honest. He prefers brunettes.) She introduces herself as a messenger.

Mellowed by the alcohol, he only raises an eyebrow at the lack of slavering Hellbeast trailing behind his doom. He asks why it is here early.

The demon smiles, answers, and makes a proposal.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_Well, I’ve been saved by a woman_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

Later, he is still alive. Somehow.

After several minutes of tears, he scolds himself for wallowing and gets up. As Draco ascends the stairs he contemplates her offer, and feels a long lost emotion; hope.

Things are looking up.

 

 

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗

_She won’t let me go now_

⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗⬖➣∞ ➢∞⬗


End file.
